Edward Scissorhands: The Novel
by BrilliantlyMadSparrow
Summary: Tim Burton's unforgettable fairytale, painstakingly converted into novel form. A man with scissors for hands, a kind Avon lady, gossipy neighbors, a beautiful daughter, and a jealous boyfriend. All this leads to trouble in the pastel paradise of Suburbia.
1. A Story about Snow

Edward Scissorhands

Written by Tim Burton and Caroline Thompson

Novelized by Maria Tommerdahl

~*Chapter 1*~

**A Story about Snow**

Delicate snowflakes fell gently past the window as an elderly woman stood looking out. She turned to her young grand-daughter. "Snuggle in, Sweetie," she said, walking over to the small girl's bed, "It's cold out there."

Her grand-daughter, practically swimming in blankets in a bed that was probably too large for her, looked out the window at the icy crystals frosting the window pane. "Why is it snowing, Grandma?" she asked innocently, "Where does it come from?"

"Oh, that's a long story, Sweetheart," the woman replied gently, adjusting the blankets.

"I wanna hear," the little girl insisted.

"Oh, not tonight," the woman said dismissively, turning away, "Go to sleep."

"I'm not sleepy," the girl persisted, pleading with not only her voice, but her eyes, as well, "Tell me. Please?"

"Well, all right," the woman relented, standing at her grand-daughter's bedside. A look of concentration, of trying to remember crossed her face. "Let's see…" She sat in a comfortable chair that was positioned next to the bed, in just the right place for story-telling. Settling into the chair, she continued, "I guess it would have to start with… scissors."

"Scissors?" the girl asked, seeming slightly confused. And who could blame her? What did scissors have to do with snow?

"Well, there are all kinds of scissors," the woman explained, "And once, there was even a man who had scissors for hands."

"A man?"

"Yes," the woman nodded.

"Hands, scissors?" The girl was growing more and more confused, but Kim, or Grandma Boggs, as the girl knew her, always told such wonderful stories, that she was sure it would all make sense in the end.

"No," the woman corrected, "Scissorhands." Then it seemed as though the story branched off in a different direction. "You know the mansion on top of the mountain?" she asked.

"It's haunted," her grand-daughter replied, a slight glint of fear appearing in her eyes.

"Well…" the woman proceeded, knowing the mansion was not haunted, at least not by an actual, dead ghost, "A long time ago, an inventor lived in that mansion. He made many things, I suppose. He also created a man. He gave him insides, a heart, a brain, everything. Well, almost everything. You see, the inventor was very old. He died before he got to finish the man he invented. So the man was left by himself – incomplete and all alone."

"He didn't have a name?" her grand-daughter interjected, feeling pity for this man she had not known existed until moments before.

"Of course he had a name," the woman said, a little bit admonishingly, "His name was Edward."


	2. Avon Calling

~*Chapter 2*~

**Avon Calling**

Suburbia was a place of placid, predictable, "perfect" pastels. Bright pastel house after bright pastel house, each a more ostentatious color than the last. Men and women wearing pastel clothing contentedly went about their lives. There were men mowing the lawn and fixing the roof, while women watered the grass and tended to the flowerbeds.

A woman with auburn hair wearing a pastel pink skirt-suit, complete with a small pink hat and large-lensed, pink-rimmed glasses, walked down the zigzagging cement path leading to a mint green house, pink heels clicking on the path, blue sales suitcase in hand. Her name was Peg Boggs, an Avon representative.

Upon reaching the green door, she rang the doorbell, listening to the simple chime. The door was opened by a portly woman wearing a yellow flowered shirt with all her hair up in pink rollers.

"Avon calling," Peg smiled cheerily and lifted the blue sales case for the other women to see.

"Weren't you just here?" the other woman, Helen, asked, in a gruff, scornful voice.

"No, not since last season," Peg replied energetically. Launching into the pre-written sales pitch, she continued, "Today, I've come to show you our exquisite new line of softer colors in shadows," she used a hand to gesture in a mannequin-like way to her eyes, "blushes," she gestured to her cheeks, "and lipsticks," she gestured to her mouth. She went on, "Everything you need to accent and highlight your changing look." The last statement was accompanied by a small series of well-rehearsed hand gestures, as well.

"My changing look," Helen scoffed, "That's good." She let out a chuckling laugh.

"Well, it goes without saying," Peg continued, after giving one polite laugh, "That I also have a complete selection of your old favorites. Those tried-and-true products we've all come to depend on, year in and year out."

"Come on, Peg," Helen said, beginning to get annoyed with the sales pitch, "I never buy anything from you. You know that."

"I know," Peg replied, her smile slipping.

"Bye," Helen said, already turning away.

"Bye, Helen," Peg said as the door shut in her face.

* * *

Across the street, in a house as pink as Peg's outfit, a house belonging to Mr. and Mrs. Monroe, a red truck with PLUMBING printed in yellow letters on its side was parked in the driveway. Inside, a plumber was busy fixing the dishwasher, a rather easy job.

"You know, you didn't have to call me, ma'am," the young, good-looking repairman said, looking up at Mrs. Monroe, or Joyce, as she preferred to be called, "You could have taken care of this by yourself."

"_I_ could?" Joyce said, laughing a little and taking the cigarette from her mouth, "I don't think so." Joyce liked to think of herself as pretty and attractive, and she might well have been, but most people were too distracted to notice if she was by her outfits and hair. The former was currently a pastel yellow sweater over a hot pink tank top with powder blue pants and yellow high heels. The latter was bright red and rather poufy.

"Yeah, you see, it's easy," the repairman said, laughing a little, as well. He pointed inside the dishwasher at the area he was fixing, "Your food trap's clogged. That's all."

"Oh?" Joyce said, in an over-exaggerated clueless voice, stepping around the counter she was leaning on and standing right next to the repairman's left side, a hand stretched around and resting on the edge of the counter behind him.

"You see this bulb here?" the repairman said, his hands showing and doing what he said, "You just unscrew this-"

"Mm-hmm," Joyce said, pretending to be deeply engrossed.

"Okay," the repairman continued, "And… out she pops."

"You know, on TV they say repairmen are a lonely bunch of people," Joyce said, attempting to be casual and eventually change the subject to what she wanted it to be, "Housewives get lonely, too. Although you may not realize it, since they haven't made a commercial on the subject."

"And then you just put this back in here, nice and easy," the repairman said, feeling a little awkward and wanting to just get the job done and leave, "Be careful not to force it, because it fits in there by itself. And then you just screw this back on." All this time, Joyce had been leaning closer and closer to the repairman, under the pretense of getting a closer look at the dishwasher.

This was all interrupted by the ring of the doorbell. "Oh, now who could that be?" Joyce asked of no one in particular, annoyed. She went to the window and glanced out. Looking at the repairman, she said, "Will you excuse me for a moment?" She started walking away, and then turned back and smiled, "Now, don't go anywhere. I'll be right back. This is fascinating. I wouldn't want to miss a moment of it."

The repairman smiled and nodded politely, but seemed relieved once Joyce left to go answer the door.

Joyce opened the door onto an entirely too cheerful Peg. "Good morning, Joyce," Peg grinned, "Avon calling."

"Why, Peg. Have you gone blind?" Joyce said, in a breathy, fake-concerned voice, "Can't you see there's a vehicle in my driveway?" She drummed her nails against the door jamb, the bright pink talons tak-tak-tak-ing against the wood.

"Oh… yes," Peg nodded, looking at the PLUMBER truck, and then turning back to Joyce.

"I'm surprised you don't realize that means I'm busy," Joyce said, as though Peg were an idiot. She stepped back out of the door frame and slammed the door in Peg's shocked face.

* * *

"Now we should decide on lipsticks." Peg was sitting delicately on the edge of the bed of a teenage girl. The blonde-haired girl was loudly chewing gum and layering bright-colored polish on her toenails. Peg felt ever-so-slightly out of place, selling to a teenager, but was doing her best to remain the unshakable saleswoman.

"Okay, dear, what one did you like best?" Peg said, looking from a pad of paper in her lap to the makeup case temporarily set up on the girl's bed, "There was the Winsome Wahini, which looked charming on you, or the Bahimini Bliss."

"I like 'em both," the girl replied distractedly, still applying color to her toenails.

"Well, great," Peg said happily. Finally, her first sale that morning. She set about writing up the sales ticket.

"You don't actually think I have any money, do you?" the girl said, as though she couldn't believe the Avon-lady was even trying to sell her make-up.

Peg just looked at the girl, disappointment and disbelief evident on her face, not sure how to respond.

* * *

Peg walked down the street, looking for a house where she might, just possibly, sell some cosmetics. The sound of organ music emanated from one house. Looking in the window, Peg saw Esmeralda Emerson(?), the local Christian enthusiast. Peg decided it was best not to even attempt selling to Esmeralda, and walked to her bright yellow car.

"Ding dong, the Avon lady," a few little girls sang jeeringly, laughing as they pedaled by on their bikes.

Peg sighed and put her sales suitcase in the passenger side, then climbed in the driver's seat, muttering, "It's just not my day."

She checked a few addresses off a list in her pad of paper that she had hoped would buy a few cosmetics. None of them had. She snapped the notebook shut and fidgeted about, placing her hands first on the steering wheel, then crossing them over her chest, sighing again.

Peg stared out the window, hoping an idea would come to her. As hardly anyone bought make-up from her, she hardly made any money. She wished someone would just buy something. Even if it was only one Bahimini Bliss lipstick, it would help tremendously.

She noticed the side-view mirror was crooked, and reached out a hand to put it back in place. Once it was, it reflected the mansion.

The mansion was a stark contrast to the rest of the neighborhood. A huge, dark, gothic-style castle, it was positioned high on a small mountain. The mountain was covered in weeds and overgrown bushes, hardly anyone ever went near it.

Looking at it, Peg decided she might as well try it, assuming anyone even lived there. She started her car and drove down the road toward the mountain.

The cul-de-sac at the end of the street was completely barren, save for the ancient gate opening onto the mansion drive. Once section seemed to have fallen down and lay flat on the ground, Peg had no choice but to drive over it in order to access the path.

The steep, twisting drive ended in front of a carved stone entrance, decorated with many statues of wildlife, which evidently led to the mansion grounds.

Stepping through that gate, Peg came upon a breath-taking sight. Contrary to the overgrown condition of the rest of the mountain, the mansion grounds were beautifully manicured. The grass and flowers were lovely, but the truly beautiful part was the topiary. Incredibly realistic sculptures were trimmed out of every shrub and hedge the grounds had to offer.

"Oh, my goodness," Peg breathed out, looking around. There was some sort of sea monster, a squirrel, a crane, a pterodactyl, a moose, and even more. In a large flower pot, in what seemed to be a place of honor in the center of the grounds, was a hand. "Oh, it's so beautiful," Peg whispered, again in a voice that was barely audible, spinning slowly around to look at everything.

Though the architecture was lovely, the mansion itself, compared to the gardens, was decidedly decrepit. It was a bit crumbly and most of the windows were broken, but it didn't seem to be in danger of falling down any time in the near future. Through one of the windows, Peg was almost certain she saw someone move.

"Hello?" she called out, looking up at the window, a hand against her forehand to shade her eyes from the sun. When there came no response, she trotted up the few steps to the large front door of the mansion. She took hold of the metal knocker, which was larger than her entire head, and knocked three times.

Waiting for someone to answer, Peg fluffed her hair a little and glanced about the gardens again. Seemingly without reason, a few birds that had been perched in one of the bushes flew off. Peg watched them fly away, and then turned back to the door.

"Hello?" Peg called again, reaching out a hand and trying to move the huge door handle. The grounds were so meticulously taken care of- she knew someone must be living there. Surprisingly, the door opened without too much effort, she hadn't even had to turn the handle.

Inside, the mansion was spacious and empty, a great stone expanse with hardly any furnishings at all.

"Hello?" Peg called out yet again, stepping inside, "Avon calling." She left the door slightly ajar and walked further into the room. It was easily as large as a school gymnasium.

Peg hoisted the strap of her sales suitcase onto her shoulder, so it would be easier to carry, as she looked around at all the cobwebs and machinery that did take up residence in the room. Wicked looking metal contraptions, that she couldn't even imagine the function of, were arranged on one side of the room, each coated in dust and cobwebs. In fact, the entire place was caked in dust and spider webs, as though no one had touched anything for years.

"Oh, my," she breathed out, almost backing into an evil-looking, weathered statue that stood to one side of a curving stair case.

A sudden noise made Peg whirl around. It was a familiar sound, but quite unexpected. The sound of snipping scissors.

"Hello?" Peg tried again for a response, beginning to climb the grand stone staircase, "Hello? Hello. I'm Peg Boggs. I'm your local Avon representative. Hello?"

Despite the fact that there was no reply, Peg kept climbing.

* * *

A/N: _The next chapter, **Peg Meets Edward**, will be coming soon. Until then, please review and tell me what you think! :) Have I done a good job of conveying the movie from pictures into words? I need to know! Thank you for your time, and I hope you will be back to read future chapters. :o)_


	3. Those Are Your Hands?

~*Chapter 3*~

**Those Are Your Hands?**

The staircase led to a series of hallways, and yet another stairway, this one considerably smaller. She began climbing. "I'm sorry to barge in like this, but you don't have any reason to be afraid." She said this because it seemed almost as though whoever was there was running and hiding from her.

Trying to make conversation with the person she couldn't see but knew must be there, Peg said, a little breathlessly, "Ooh! This is some huge house, isn't it? Thank goodness for those aerobics… classes." She trailed off at the end due to what lay at the top of the small stairway. It was what appeared to be an expansive attic or loft space, with a giant hole in the roof, which, along with one or two windows, let in a lot of light, except in one corner of the room, which was lost in almost complete shadow.

Stepping into the room, Peg saw an old, apparently not currently functioning, fireplace. There was what appeared to be a small bed pushed inside it. The worn mattress was covered in multiple gashes, and half the stuffing was poking through. The thin blanket was sliced to the point was there was not much left but shreds of fabric. The back of the fireplace was blocked off by a curtain, on which were young many clippings from magazines and newspapers.

The thing that most caught Peg's eye was a clipping of a news article headline: _**Boy born without eyes reads with his hands**_.

Peg stiffened. There it was again. That snipping sound. Like someone was opening and closing a pair of scissors over and over.

Peg turned and looked at the source of the sound. In the darkened corner of the room, a figure sat, holding something that shone brilliant silver when it caught whatever scant light managed permeate the corner. She couldn't make out what they looked like, or even whether it was a man or women, she only knew it was a person.

"Hello?" Peg called, in a very friendly voice, "Hello? Why are you hiding back there?"

The figure stood up, (though due to the slope of the ceiling where it was standing, it was rather hunched over) and began making its way slowly out of the corner. It seemed to be peering curiously at Peg.

As of that moment, Peg had no reason to be scared of the figure. She walked toward it, smiling and saying reassuringly, "You don't have to hide from me. I'm Peg Boggs. I'm your local Avon representative and I'm as harmless as cherry pi…"

Peg trailed off as the figure was finally able to stand completely straight. It shuffled forward at an odd gait. It seemed to be clutching handfuls of what appeared to be very sharp blades, presumably knives, what Peg had seen glinting seconds before. Images of news articles about violent psychopaths who horribly, brutally murdered their unsuspecting victims flashed through her mind.

"Oh, my," Peg breathed out. This time, it was not in wonder, but in terror. "I can see that I've disturbed you," she said, fear tightening her voice slightly as she backed away slowly, though she tried to remain calm, "How stupid of me. I'll- I'll just be going now." She quickly turned around. With any luck, she could get away, and call the police, before the figure had a chance to do anything.

But before she could turn completely, the figure quickened its pace slightly, as though to try and stop her from leaving. A soft, slightly stilted, voice pleaded, "Don't… go." It sounded almost as though the person wasn't used to speaking. The plea was followed the sound of scissors snipping.

The figure was now fully in the light. Peg saw it was a young man. The first thing she noticed was his thick, shaggy, midnight-black, fly-away hair. His clothing was some sort of single piece, black leather suit. It was covered in belts and buckles and studded with what appeared to be quite a few rivets.

His face was extremely pale. Deathly pale, in fact, white. His eyes were dark and rather sunken. His lips, darker than the rest of his complexion, being an odd shade of purple, were twisted down in a slight frown. His face held a look of innocent, childish fright. It seemed Peg had scared him as much as he had scared her.

And then, of course, there was the fact that it still looked like he was holding multiple knives in each hand.

As the man walked towards her, these blades seemed to twitch, emitting a sound like snipping scissors.

"Oh, my," Peg whispered in horror. In a bit of a louder voice, she looked the man straight in the eye and asked, a bit piteously and very curiously, "What happened to you?"

"I'm not finished," the man said, in that odd, quiet voice of his, lifting the blades towards Peg as he continued to walk closer. They twitched, snipped, and glinted menacingly.

Peg gasped and jumped a little. "Oh!" she exclaimed, still trying her best to remain calm. "Just put those down," she said, lifting a hand in a 'stop' gesture and lowering it slowly, "Don't come any closer. Just- Please…"

The man lowered his hands and stopped walking. He merely stood, roughly ten feet away, looking at Peg with a scared, melancholy, confused expression.

Now that he was closer, she saw that he had no hands. It wasn't the lack of the appendages that alarmed her, but, rather, what had replaced them. He was not clutching knives. At the ends of his arms were metal contraptions with long blades where fingers should have been. Sharp, silver, scissor blades.

She looked at them, mouth open slightly. "Those are your hands?" she said, not quite believing, "Those are your hands." The second time, it was more of a statement than a question.

The man still just stood and looked at her, that innocent, childish expression of so many emotions never wavering from his face. The scissor blades- _his hands_ still seemed to twitch involuntarily.

"What happened to you?" Peg asked again, in a caring voice, stepping closer to the young man, "Where are your parents?" She asked this because the man looked as though he couldn't have been more than seventeen, at the most eighteen, years old. "Um… Your mother? Your father?"

The man looked at her nervously as she approached, as though he weren't sure whether to stay put or run away. At the mention of 'father', he seemed to decide it was best to stay. He looked at Peg and said simply, in a soft voice tinged only ever-so-slightly with sadness, "He didn't wake up."

Peg listened and nodded, then glanced around the room before looking back at the man. "Are you alone?" she asked, "Do you live up here all by yourself?"

The men did not reply, but his eyes widened a little. The scissor blades that made up his hands continued to twitch and snip.

Looking at his face, Peg saw that it was covered with deep scars, which were an even paler white than the rest of his face. The two most prominent scars ran along the right side of his nose, and through the left corner of his mouth. "What happened to your face?"

Peg reached out a hand to the scars, the Avon saleswoman showing as she pondered what would be the best method of concealing them. The man recoiled fearfully from her hand.

"No, I won't hurt you," Peg said soothingly. The young man now looked more like some strange mix between a small child and nervous puppy. "But at the very least," Peg said, going back into Avon-mode, "Let me give you a good astringent, and this will help to prevent infection." She even included the mannequin-like hand gestures she had rehearsed to go with each product line.

The man looked as though he hadn't understood at least half of that.

Peg set her sales suitcase down and the floor, opened it, and pulled out a bottle of something and a cotton ball. She unscrewed the bottle lid and placed the cotton ball over the mouth. Tipping it upside-down for a fraction of a second, she soaked the bit of fluff with whatever was in the bottle.

Peg stood back up and began dabbing the cotton ball over all the scars. The man was a good bit taller than her. He was probably about five foot ten inches, if not a little taller. Even given the fact that Peg was so much shorter, he flinched away from her touch. He still looked scared, just as he had the entire time. As she gently pressed the cotton ball against a scar on his cheek, Peg asked, "What's your name?"

"Edward," the man replied quietly, his eyes following the cotton ball as it moved about his face.

"Edward?" Peg asked, finishing cleaning all the scars. "I think you should just come home with me." She smiled broadly, nodded once, then bent down to gather up her sales suitcase.


End file.
